Last January, before I left to study abroad, when people asked me what I was most excited about in London, my answer wasn’t seeing Big Ben or the London Eye. It wasn’t riding in a red double decker bus or taking my picture with a red phone booth. My answer was simple: I couldn’t wait to be around boys with British accents. It’s every American girl’s dream, right? There’s just something about British boys.
I had just ended something pretty casual in the U.S. and I had no expectations of starting anything serious while abroad because, to be honest, I didn’t see the point. I was only there for three and a half months, and then I had to come back home. I saw a semester full of flirting with all the cute boys with accents. I was wrong.
I landed at Heathrow on a Wednesday morning and spent most of my first few days in London exploring the city by day…and by night. That Friday, my third day in London, my friends and I headed to Tiger Tiger, a club in Piccadilly, because we had heard good things about it. It was an average night and by 2am, we were ready to leave. I was waiting near the exit with a group of friends when I saw a boy. I was several vodka cranberries in, so I smiled at him and he came over to me. Before even introducing himself, before even telling me his name or asking for mine, he said to me, “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. I’m going to marry you someday.”
Now, I know what you’re thinking. So weird. But when a cute boy with a British accent tells you he wants to marry you, you go along with it. And I definitely went along with it. (Also, alcohol makes you do weird things.) The way I saw it, there was no harm in playing along because I would probably never see this boy again, right? Wrong.
The next day, I woke up to a text from a British number. We exchanged pleasantries — last night was fun, did you get home okay, blah, blah — and then he said, “So, do you fancy going for a date with me?” I was walking through Hyde Park with a group of friends and I think I actually screamed. I could not remember the last time I was asked on an actual date. We arranged a time and place to meet the next night.
On our first date, Jack took me to the Shard, the tallest building in the EU. There’s a bar 34 floors up, and we split a bottle of wine and sat right next to the window. I learned that Jack was twenty-three, that he lived in London, and that he was a lawyer. Looking down at all of London, I felt like I was in a movie; it didn’t feel real. It was honestly the best date I’ve ever been on. We had so much to talk about (the wine might have helped), and the chemistry between us was so obvious.
From that point on, Jack and I were going on at least one date a week and meeting up every weekend that I was in London. Because I was studying abroad, I traveled around Europe a lot, but we still found the time to see each other. He was becoming a huge part of my life and I was trying not to get attached, but everything with him felt so easy. It made me nervous about what would happen when I left in May. I didn’t think it was fair to ask him to stay with me when I moved back the US, but when I brought it up to him one night at his apartment, he told me he wanted to stay together. We could make it work.
In March, on his birthday, Jack introduced me to all his friends as his girlfriend. A few weeks later, on one of my friend’s birthday, he told me he loved me. That weekend, I went home with him for Easter; I met his family and saw the little village he grew up in. A couple weeks after that, my parents flew to London and Jack met them. After the first night they met, my mom said to me, “You honestly could not have picked someone better. He’s perfect for you.”
I pressed them for more — there had to be something they didn’t like about him. But even my dad agreed, we were great together. I’m incredibly close with both of my parents and I’m definitely daddy’s little girl, so it felt so good to know they approved. That had never happened before with any of my other boyfriends in the past.
Before I left London, Jack and I made a plan. He would visit me during the summer, I would come back to London sometime during the Fall semester, he would come for my birthday in December, I would go back during the Spring semester, and he would visit for graduation in May. As crazy as it sounds, so far everything has gone according to plan. Jack came for two weeks in August. It was his first time in the US, so we tried to do as much as possible. He came to Fairfield, where I was living for the summer. We spent a week at my Cape house with my family, and then went to NYC for a couple days. It was amazing to have him here.
In October, I went to London for a week and while I was there, we went to Paris for two days. It felt so incredible to back in London together, and I booked a trip for Spring Break right when I got back to New York.
Long distance isn’t easy, but it’s so worth it. I know that sounds corny and a year ago I probably wouldn’t have believed myself either, but it’s true. Technology is my best friend; Jack and I iMessage all day everyday (when we’re both awake — boo, time differences) and we FaceTime every night. Even though we’re 3,500 miles apart, it doesn’t really feel like it. He’s my best friend and I’m still so in love with him — despite the distance. He makes me happier than I ever thought possible; I’m the luckiest girl. Also, the accent never gets old.
Next week, Jack is flying back to the US for my 22nd birthday. At midnight on New Year’s Eve, I’ll get to kiss my British boyfriend and we’ll start a new year together. It’s been almost a year since the first time we met and sometimes I can’t believe how far we’ve come. If you told me a year ago that I would be dating a boy from another country who I met abroad, I’d laugh.
But now I know that love can go the distance — you just have to let it.